


The Fruits of Your Labour

by bekindplsrewind



Series: SPN Rare Ship Bingo 2020 [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Humour, I know nothing about car parts, M/M, Minor Swearing, mechanic!bobby, mention of Rufus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24302323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bekindplsrewind/pseuds/bekindplsrewind
Summary: Bobby finally relents to Crowley's persistent wooing and goes to dinner with him, hoping that it will lay Crowley's pursuits to rest. However, by doing so, he may have had a change of heart.
Relationships: Bobby Singer & Dean Winchester, Crowley/Bobby Singer
Series: SPN Rare Ship Bingo 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740718
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	The Fruits of Your Labour

**Author's Note:**

> written for [spnrareshipbingo](https://spnrareshipbingo.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, for the square 'bobby'. yo. i wrote this in a _day_. i'm on a major roll here or something. [watch me jinx myself and not write for the next two weeks D:]
> 
> thank you to my beta queen, [thewaywardgryffindor](https://thewaywardgryffindor.tumblr.com/)! <3 :)

“Incomin’!” Dean warned as he passed by behind Bobby.

Bobby knew what that meant.

He glanced up from his clipboard, an old landline phone pressed to his ear. “Aww, shit,” he muttered. Across the autobody shop, he could see the familiar silhouette of a suavely suited man in black.

The man removed his shades as he looked around in search for someone, his gaze stopping in Bobby’s direction.

Bobby turned around and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Balls!” he growled. “Dean, get your ass over here!”

Dean set down his wrench, wiping his greased hands on a rag as he strutted over. “Say hi to your boyfriend, yet?” he said with a smirk.

“Take care of that.” Bobby jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

“What? Why do I have to?” Dean immediately jumped into defense mode. “Monty Python only comes here to see you!”

“I’ve got my hands full right now running a goddamned business, in case you were too busy powdering your nose to notice. What? Don’t think I don’t know about the extra five minutes of breaktime you’ve been taking this past week? Now, move it, princess!”

Dean huffed in silent protest, but acquiesced, albeit reluctantly.

Bobby watched from the reflection on his office window. “About damn time, Rufus! You’ve got the runs, or something?” he said to the man on the line. Dean appeared to be making chit-chat; the man looked over to where Bobby was standing again. “Yeah, same as before. Add in an EGR valve and an ignition coil.” The suit handed Dean a box, his gaze lingering at Bobby before turning to leave. He could see Dean heading back towards him. “Right, thanks.”

He hung up as soon as Dean dropped the box onto his desk. “‘The hell is that?”

“Chocolates.” Dean leaned back against the desk.

“What’s he expect me to do with those?”

“Uh, eat ‘em?”

“I’m not some hormonal pregnant lady with a 2 AM craving.”

“Jesus, Bobby, it’s just chocolate! You make it sound like he dropped a flaming bag of shit on your doorstep. Who doesn’t like chocolate?” Dean opened the box and picked one out, popping it into his mouth. “Oh, fuck! That’s good!” He reached for another before Bobby preemptively smacked his hand.

“Get back to work!”

With a sigh, Dean pushed off the desk. “He says he wants to take you out to dinner tonight.”

Bobby palmed his face and groaned.

“Despite all the business he’s raked in for us, could you just do us all a favour and do it? It’d end all our suffering. Please, man.”

“Less talking, more working!”

Bobby grabbed the chocolates with him into his office, dumping it over the scrawl of paperwork on his desk. He slumped down in his chair, eyeing the box warily before depositing one into his mouth. “Shit, these are good.”

* * *

Dean had just closed up shop and left, leaving Bobby to go over the daily inventory numbers on his own.

He let out a weary sigh and leaned down, yanking open his bottom drawer where he kept a stash of whiskey. Bobby tossed the unscrewed cap on his desk where he was in full view of the half eaten chocolates. He pulled a face and rolled his eyes, as if the sweet delights were taunting him. “Dammit!” he huffed grumpily, unhappily setting the whiskey down with an angry thunk and snatching the phone receiver off its cradle. He punched each number like they were someone who owed him money.

The line picked up after two rings, the silk rumble of a British accent answered. “Hello, Robert. How are you this evening?”

_ “Crowley,” _ Bobby practically grunted.

“You get my chocolates? They were handmade from Belgium.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “Enough with the pansy French chocolates.”

“Are you ringing me to thank me, or…?”

Bobby gritted his teeth, forcing the words out. “Dinner. Tonight.”

Crowley chuckled. “My, Robert Singer, thought you’d never ask. Shall I have a town car come fetch you?”

“I’m not some Disney princess that needs an escort. I can get there myself, thank you very much.”

“Of course you aren’t, you’re a completely capable and strong man,” Crowley said, dry sarcasm intact. “I’ll text you the address. Dress sharply.”

Bobby slapped the phone down and took a swig of whiskey right out of the bottle.

* * *

Despite the truly profound desire to spite Crowley by dressing in his casual flannel, worn out jeans, and cap, he had more decorum. His battle with him would be a psychological one—be as off putting and despicable (perhaps, even more so than he already was)—so that Crowley would get repulsed by his behaviour, eventually getting turned off. What he hadn’t expected was how pleasant Crowley actually was, and a rather good conversationalist. They even shared some things in common, much to his chagrin. But the most devastating thing of it all, was that Bobby had actually  _ enjoyed  _ himself  _ and _ Crowley’s company. They had had a nice meal, drank a fine bottle of wine, and by the end of the night, shared a kiss goodnight.  _ Balls. _

The next day at work resumed as it normally did, except Crowley hadn’t made his daily rounds of calling Bobby’s direct line to chat him up. He ignored it and kept himself busy. But Crowley’s absence did not go unnoticed.

“Your number one client never called or showed today.” Dean grinned across at Bobby as he began to close up. “You must have done a real number on the guy if he went from doing  _ that  _ 24/7 to zilch.”

“Quit your yappin’ and keep workin’!” Bobby growled, annoyed.

“Bobby, I’m off the clock.” Dean grinned. “Get some rest, man. You deserve it.” He shot him a wink and a finger gun.

The next two days bore the same results, not a peep from the smooth talking Brit.

“As much as I’m enjoying the peace and quiet, I’m starting to miss all the gifts he sent,” Dean said, rolling out from under a car. “Seriously spoiled us. Gained a few pounds, too.” He patted his belly.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Pick up your paycheque before you leave.” He stepped into his office and shut the door behind him, plopping down in his chair with a huff as he glared at the phone. He snatched the receiver off the cradle and started to pound in the numbers he had committed to memory.

“Hello, Robert,” Crowley answered, velvet and gravel all at once.

“Quit it with the ‘hello, Robert’, crap!” Bobby said, mockingly. “Why the hell haven’t you called me in the past three days? What? Weren’t satisfied that I didn’t put out? Disappointed that all you got was a peck on the lips?”

“Oh. I see we’ve both come to a misunderstanding. I had the impression I was being too overbearing. I thought this was what you wanted.” His tone was as innocent as can be.

This should have been what Bobby wanted. He prayed for the day Crowley would disappear forever and leave him in peace; he’d wished Crowley had never set foot in Singer’s Autobody and Repair. But he’d come to realise, with horrifying revelation, that that wasn’t the case. He’d fallen for the guy.

“A call would have been at least nice so I know you still exist!” he huffed.

Crowley sniggered. “How about I make it up to you, love? Dinner tonight?”

“Fine.”

“Pick you up at eight?”

“If you expect to be driving after tonight, you’re out of your goddamn mind! Get a cab, ya idjit!”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading!
> 
> comments and kudos are always appreciated ;)
> 
> come and bother me on my tumblr! [seagullmichael](https://seagullmichael.tumblr.com/)


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